They met behind the gym after seventh period—Adam, Jeremy, Oliver, and Jessica—gathered in the shadow of the bleachers like they were hiding from the world they once ruled.
The group had grown quieter, smaller. Harper had stopped replying to texts. Christen no longer even pretended to sit with them. It was just the loyal few now, trying to keep something together that was already falling apart.
Jeremy was the one who broke the silence.
"I've been getting messages," he said flatly.
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "What kind of messages?"
Jeremy reached into his backpack and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He opened it carefully, his fingers shaking just slightly.
It was a printed photo—grainy, but unmistakable.
Liam. In the woods. Curled on the ground. Dirt streaked his face. His mouth hung open in pain. And his eyes—those hollow, helpless eyes—looked straight into the camera.
"Where did you get that?" Adam asked.
"My locker. Couple days ago."
Oliver leaned closer. "That's… that's from the day in the woods."
Jessica's face tightened. "Didn't we delete all the footage?"
Jeremy shook his head. "Yeah. We deleted ours. But this? This isn't from any of our phones. Look at the angle. It's not from our side. And it's not from where Mr. Peterson came in, either."
Adam took the photo, frowning.
He studied it in silence.
Whoever took the picture had been far off—maybe hidden in the tree line or behind the hill. Out of view. Watching.
Unseen.
"It gets worse," Jeremy said, lowering his voice. "I got a DM too. From a blank account. Said, 'Did it feel good, laughing while he cried?' Then another one last night: 'He still flinches.'"
Jessica crossed her arms. "It's Liam. Or his loser friends."
"Then why wouldn't they just say that?" Jeremy shot back. "Why hide behind fake accounts?"
"Maybe because they're cowards," Oliver muttered. "Or maybe they want us to spiral."
"It's working," Jeremy mumbled.
A pause.
Adam folded the photo again and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
"We don't confront them," he said.
Jessica blinked. "Why not?"
"Because if we confront them, we lose our edge. We look guilty. We give them the reaction they want."
Jeremy looked incredulous. "You're telling me to just wait around and let them mess with me?"
"No," Adam said slowly. "I'm telling you to stay calm. Because if we blow up—if we so much as breathe wrong—it won't be detention next time. It'll be expulsion. Or worse."
He looked at the others.
"We lay low. We keep our eyes open. And when we know who did this… we hit back."
Jessica nodded slowly, though her confidence looked more like a mask now.
Oliver didn't speak.
Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. "It just… feels like they're watching. Like they're always watching."
No one argued with him.
Because they all felt it too.
That evening, Jeremy locked his bedroom door.
His phone sat on the desk, dark and still, but he couldn't stop glancing at it.
He kept the photo hidden under a textbook—like that would somehow keep it from being real.
When his phone finally buzzed, he jumped.
A new message.
"One of you will crack. Just like he did."
Attached was another photo—this time, zoomed in.
Adam's fist, clenched midair. Liam's body, inches below.
The moment before the blow landed.
Jeremy swallowed hard. The photo was clear—far too clear to have been taken on a whim.
Someone had planned this.
Someone had been there, hidden.
Watching everything.
At school, things continued to shift.
The posters for Anti-Bullying Day were everywhere now. Students actually seemed to care. Teachers mentioned it during class. Volunteers signed up. The gym was already being prepped for more events.
Liam had returned, a little quieter than before, but more grounded. He was starting to speak up in class again. He'd even gone to the counselor—twice.
The bruises were fading.
But the fear lingered.
And so did the anger.
In Room 12-B, Liam sat with Theo, Ryan, and Anika, cutting flyers for a lunchtime booth they were setting up. They joked quietly, planning a trivia game and awareness materials to hand out.
They didn't know that across campus, Jeremy was sitting alone in the library, staring at his phone, trying not to panic.
They didn't know their names were being whispered behind closed doors.
Not yet.
Meanwhile, Harper ignored the group chats entirely. She'd left the group DM two days ago. No one had called her out. No one had dared.
She'd started spending time in the music room again, scribbling lyrics in a notebook. The few friends she had outside the "inner circle" were surprised—but welcoming.
Still, she felt them watching.
Jessica in the halls. Oliver at lunch.
Even Adam.
Especially Adam.
Christen hadn't spoken a word to any of them since the assembly.
She walked the halls like a ghost—ears plugged with music, head down, notebook clutched to her chest. She used to sketch flowers, people, dresses.
Now she sketched shadows.
Figures in the trees.
A boy on the ground.
And one figure, always watching, always hidden—drawn again and again in the margins.
That night, Jeremy stayed awake until 2 a.m., phone clutched in his hands.
He kept thinking about that photo.
That angle.
Someone had seen everything.
And they weren't done.